“Well get on with then,” Lilian pushed my back.
That was years ago.
No, that was now.
No, that was hours ago at the beginning of the hike.
“Get on with it, geez, your stories, Kat, really so meandering.”
This story will be written in English so my brain can comprehend it though sometimes I hear things differently.
That’s what she had said. Meandering.Windy. No, winding. I think. This was hours ago when we first started the hike. Her real name is Liliana but we called her Lilian for short because she preferred it and was bossy  so what she preferred took precedence. Once stealing money from a British man in cards, she learned quickly how to feign his accent to charm.We are thirteen. We are cunning and unabashed at times. We are ruthless investigators of all things in our small town and  we are friends, not sisters. We are young when this happens but I am still seething. Rage never leaves you. It just transforms. I cannot express enough  though that Liliana Meszaros iis not my sister nor is she my friend. 

This was hours ago when we first started the hike.
“You always tell such circular things, such winding things.”

Even though I was in front of her, merely because I knew how to get to Loga having been here longer, she was leading. Been here longer in age by nine months. She was younger than me. Thirteen, but nine months younger.
“Could have been my sister,” I used to say.
Kamelia was eleven.
Kamelia was my sister.
Kamelia was dead.
No, my brother is dead.
This was years ago.
“Hours ago,” I say to the mirror.
My brother is dead is written somewhere in this apartment so I can remember.
Grief doesn’t leave it just transforms.“Well, what can I say we aren’t all as charming as you, Liliannnn.”
I felt her smack my back but I also heard her laugh. I was freezing. It was freezing and dark. The middle of a storm. The ground covered in white soft powder and us in our black parkas.
“Like little witches,” she said.
“Shh,” I smacked her arm. “Don’t let Kamelia hear.”
Kamelia is my sister. Dead like me. Dead cuz of me. Something grabs my arm to try to pull me up but she is (dead cuz of life.”
“No, dead cuz of me.”
But I pull myself up.
And to the mirror, I say, finally with fervency, “Kacirek. Your name is Kamelia Kacirek. Well get on with then.”
And I am fast opening my front door where I see Sam with my luggage.

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